


Duty Calls

by CelticKnot



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Prompt Fic, word: Heir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: Written for a Drabble prompt in the All Fandoms FB group. ~500 words, the prompt was the word “heir.” General—now Primarch—Victus considers what his new position means as the Reapers tear down galactic civilization around him.





	Duty Calls

Every new war brought surprises. You could train and prepare your troops for every possible eventuality, and still something would inevitably take you by surprise when the bullets started flying. It was the reality of battle, and Adrien Victus hadn’t made General without being prepared to handle surprises.

And this war was no different, though its surprises had taken a particularly horrifying turn. Victus and his men had found themselves fighting the mindless husks of what had once been allied races, and worse, their own people: mutated, violated, and turned into shock troops for the Reapers.

The Reapers. That had been an ugly surprise, too. If anyone but Castis Vakarian had broached the idea of investigating the rumor of an invasion of giant sentient machines bent on destroying organic life—in defiance of the Council, no less—Victus might have laughed. But Vakarian was a good man, loyal and serious and above all trustworthy, so Victus had seen to it that his concerns were taken all the way up to Primarch Fedorian and a small task force appointed: enough to evaluate the potential threat, but not enough to cost Vakarian his career if he were wrong.

Of course, he hadn’t been wrong. The Reapers were here. The turian fleet, the mightiest navy in the galaxy, was being systematically annihilated. And Palaven was burning.

Victus stared up at the planet now, his eyes focused on the blaze of reds and yellows that had once been the capital city of Cipritine. But none of it really registered. Instead, his mind raced. Moments ago, he had been just another general doing his damnedest to hold this moon against the Reapers, slowly giving ground but making them pay in blood for every inch. But now... now here was young Garrus Vakarian, Castis’s wayward son, telling him Primarch Fedorian was dead and the line of succession had fallen to him.

_Primarch Victus of Palaven._ Putting his name to the title sounded strange in his mind, like a child’s fantasy.

And yet, never once in his wildest imaginings had he ever thought it might come to this. He was Primarch of Palaven, yes, but he was the captain of a sinking ship. Heir to a crumbling empire. His administration, or what was left of it, could very well see the end of the Turian Hierarchy.

And what Garrus and the human Commander Shepard were asking him to do with this new authority was impossible. To flee the battle—to leave his troops to die on the front lines while he sat in the safety of a conference room playing diplomat—was unthinkable. Cowardly. Dishonorable. Wasn’t it?

Adrien Victus felt the mantle of responsibility fall like a physical weight on his shoulders, and nearly staggered under it. It was down to him, now. And if this war summit Shepard wanted him to chair could give his people a fighting chance, then by the Spirits, he would give them that chance.

But it wasn’t without a hint of accusation, and perhaps a note of defeat, in his voice that he said to her, “Let me say goodbye to my men.”


End file.
